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The John J. and Hanna M. McManus 
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“THERE’S WITCHCRAFT IN THY LANGUAGE, IN THY 
FACE, IN THY DEMEANORS.” 




LAIRD & LEE-CHICAGO. 







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Bte JOHN j. «®a HANNA M, * fllAJ ?5£ a 
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CONFESSIONS OF A PALMIST. 
RACY TALES 


In the year 1900 I returned from 
Europe and opened up parlors on 
Lexington Avenue, New York City. 

My real intention was to give char¬ 
acter readings and cast horoscopes. 

I was foolish enough to believe peo¬ 
ple really cared about themselves in 
a scientific way. 

But my illusion was soon dispelled. 

My first client was a woman (I 
have always been fond of women), a 


7 


8 


Confessions of a Palmist 


most elaborately dressed piece of fem¬ 
ininity. 

She informed me she had read my 
advertisement in one of the Sun¬ 
day papers and was much impressed, 
but did not believe a word of it! 

I smiled and said I did not blame 
her very much, I was of the same opin¬ 
ion, and added, “Perhaps you will be 
good enough to tell me why you have 
called*?” 

The lady eyed me suspiciously and 
said: 

“You see, it’s like this; I am mar¬ 
ried, and my husband loves me, but I 
love another; I want you to cast a 



Racy 'tales 


9 


spell over my husband, and then I 
want you to teach me personal mag- 



“My husband is very wealthy—I want you 
to cast a spell—to rid me of him.” 

“This is very simple. How much money 
have you?” 

netism so that I can attract the one 
I love.” 

I said: “Madam, this is perfectly 
simple—how much money have you?” 















10 


Confessions of a Palmist 


She became confidential, placed one 
hand on my shoulder, looked back of 
her, and then whispered in my ear: 
“My husband is very wealthy. I will 
pay you a round sum if you are suc¬ 
cessful in casting a spell—I want you 
to rid me of him!” 

| I said: “Madam, this is so easy it’s 

? 

a shame to take the money!” 

She was overjoyed, left a deposit, 
took her first lesson in personal mag¬ 
netism and departed. 

I swooned! 

In a half hour or so the bell rang 
and in walked the lady, all smiles, and 
said she would take another lesson 



Racy Tales 


1 1 

in personal magnetism, as she felt 
“just fine!” 

I told her “Enthusiasm is a great 
thing, but I think one lesson a day is 
all your pocket-book can really stand.” 

She insisted, paid her money, took 
the second lesson and departed in high 
glee! 

The carriage rolled away, but as 
the sound died in the distance the bell 
rang. 

I was nervous, for I thought she 
had returned for a third lesson. 

But I was mistaken. An elderly 
gentleman with a soldierly bearing 
greeted me. 




12 


Confusions of a Palmist 


I asked him what I could do for 
him, and he said: 

“I saw your ad in the Sunday paper, 
and you see it’s like this: I am a mar¬ 
ried man, my wife loves me, but I am 
very much in love with the sweetest 
little girl in all the world—of course, 
you know how it is yourself! 

On this last point I was not exactly 
sure—but I bowed. 

And he continued: “Now what I 
want you to do is this: Cast a spell 
over my wife and give me a few les¬ 
sons in personal magnetism, as I am 
not so young as I used to be!” 

He paid me the money in advance, 



Racy 'Tales 


13 


and I gave him the lesson. He seemed 
pleased and very confident, and told 
me he would call on the following day 
for another lesson. 

I was also pleased with my first 
day’s business, as my diminished ex¬ 
chequer was somewhat replenished. I 
had supper and was quietly thinking 
over the peculiarity of the case when 
my reverie was broken into by a ring 
of the bell. I answered the door, and 
a very pleasing little lady stammered 
and said she had seen my “ad” in the 
Sunday paper and would like a few 
lessons in personal magnetism, as she 
wished to attract a rich man that she 



H 


Confessions of a Palmist 


had become infatuated with, and who 
“by-tile-way, is married to the ugliest 
woman on earth!” 

To which I replied: 

“You have a striking personality. 
I think I could learn to love you my¬ 
self! But, as your mind is set on this 
decrepit old guy, I will teach you how 
to attract him.” 

She paid her money and I gave her 
a lesson. 

She was more than satisfied, and 
kissed me on the forehead, and said: 
“I will call again in the morning!” 

This was so sudden I was obliged 
to blush. 



Racy 'Rales 


15 


That night I was rather wide awake 
thinking of the spells I had contracted 
to cast. In my own mind, I was some¬ 
what skeptical as to my own ability. 
But as the sun came up my fears were 
dispelled, for the door bell rang and 
a wild-eyed individual entered and 
said: 

“Are you the fortune-teller^” 

I said “Sure!” 

“Well!” he continued, “I am in 
love with a married woman, but not 
the married woman that is in love with 
me! I want you to cast a spell over 
the married woman that is in love with 



16 Confessions of a Palmist 

me and see that she doesn’t love me 
any more!” 

In reply I said: “This is simple! 
How much money have you got?” 

He said: “Never mind, I have 
enough! What is your fee?” 

I told him—he looked dumb¬ 
founded, dilated his eyes, puffed out 
his cheeks and gave me a check, add¬ 
ing, “I will call in a day or two!” 

As luck would have it, the next day 
I was very busy, and I had the maid at 
the door trained to admit those that 
came with the explanation that I 
would be “at leisure in a few mo¬ 
ments!” 



Racy Tales 


17 


One by one my previous clients 
called, and were ushered into the re¬ 
ception room, which was somewhat 
darkened for psychical effect. 

This was an unnecessary precau¬ 
tion. 

They instinctively felt there was 
something wrong. 

The “sweetest thing in the world” 
made a flying leap and landed in the 
old gentleman’s beard, and began 
giving him a close shave without 
lather. 

The maid at the door became fright¬ 
ened, and rang for the patrol, and the 
last I saw of the merry crowd, they 
were touring toward the police station. 



















































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“ I’LL FIX IT FOR YOU." 


'A •- 4 - v J , • *- • * , A ' r 



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A VISIT FROM SPIRIT-WORLD. 


At 9130 one morning the bell rang 
and a very large, distinguished look¬ 
ing gentleman with black hair and 
moustache and flashing eye stepped 
swiftly into the room and swung his 
soft felt hat from his head with a 
sweep and said: 

“You are a spiritualist!” 

“No, I am not a spiritualist, sir,” I 
answered, “but I can give you the ad¬ 
dress of one if you desire it!” 

“You are a spiritualist, sir,” came 


21 


22 


Confessions of a Palmist 


the emphatic reply, “and furthermore 
have been highly recommended to me, 
and I have great faith in you.” (And 



“No! I have faith in you.” 


out came a ten dollar ($10) bill, 
which he placed on the table.) 

“Well!” I thought to myself, “if I 
am, I am! What can I do for you?” 












Racy Thales 


23 


“My wife is in spirit world,” said 
he. 

“Yes! I know she is!” was my re- 
ply. 

“Now I want her to visit me to¬ 
night!” 

“Well, this is a little out of my 
line,” said I. “I will give you the ad¬ 
dress' of a spiritualist that makes a 
specialty of just such cases.” 

“No! I have faith in you,” and he 
picked up his hat and dashed out of 
the door! 

I was sad, bewildered, and amused. 

The next morning the gentleman 
came in, all smiles, and said: “She 
called!” 









She called — a visitor from spirit world. 
























t 



IN SPIRIT WORLD 















“FOILED! 


The teaching of occultism is ever 
fraught with danger. 

All kinds of people from the ma¬ 
niac to the philosopher are aspirants, 
and the beliefs as to what can be ac¬ 
complished are as varied as the char¬ 
acters that take it up. 

Some take up these sciences to im¬ 
prove themselves, others to become 
powerful, and others for God knows 
what. 

A lady came in one afternoon and 


27 


2cS 


Confessions of a Palmist 


had her hand read, and became so 
much impressed that she said she was 
going to take a course of lessons, “just 
for fun.” 

My prices were $100 for twenty les¬ 
sons, invariably in advance. 

She paid the money and took the 
course, and then asked me if I would 
teach her astrology. 

I was in the business for that pur¬ 
pose, and I gave her the course. 

Then she took personal magnetism, 
*—another twenty lessons. 

As I was giving her the last lesson, 
she said: 

“You must know I don’t care for 



Racy 'Rales 


29 


these lessons at all. I simply come 
here to get away from my husband. 
Do you know I like you better than 



anyone I have ever met? And I have 
been thinking it over—I’ll tell you 
what we will do: I can get hold of 













3 ° 


Confessions of a Palmist 


$500,000—some of which belongs to 
my husband—and you and I will go to 
India, and after the scandal blows 
over we will return to Italy, and live 
happily ever after!” 

I said, “Madam, this is so sudden! 
Besides, I think my wife might ob¬ 
ject!” 



“ Madam, are you really surprised ? ” 












WHICH ? 



























'THE MYSTERIOUS HOUSE! 


A fierce snow-storm was raging and 
the wind was howling, drifting the 
snow high up on the windows and 
dimming the street lights, when the 
door creaked and a visitor in a long 
sealskin coat and black veil covered 
with frost entered without knocking. 
She looked around mysteriously, and 
then came toward me as I stood in a 
dimly lighted alcove at the end of the 
room. 

She asked me if I could give her 


33 


34 


Confessions of a Palmist 


a potion that would make men wild to 
gamble! 

I said, “Yes, I have a potion with a 
hypnotic effect—but it is expensive, 
as it requires very close attention to 
compound, and the chemicals are hard 
to obtain.” 

“Well,” she said, “I care little 
about the cost, I want results!” 

I was naturally a little curious, and 
became somewhat sociable with my 
strange client, and lowered the al¬ 
ready mellowed light in the Persian 
lantern. 

She seemed to feel quite comfort¬ 
able in the gloom that fell over the 



Racy T'ales 


35 


place, and I pulled my chair up close 
to her. 

In the course of the conversation 
that followed she told me she had a 
gambling house and catered to the 
wants of the wealthy profligates of the 
400. 

Weird, secret and uncanny things 
have always entertained me, so I final¬ 
ly had the lady so sociably inclined 
that she insisted on my coming over 
with her then and there. 

I bundled up, placed a revolver in 
my pocket and struck out with this 
mysterious and highly entertaining 
companion. 



36 


Confessions of a Palmist 


Once out in the storm we became 
silent, and she led the way by a few 



“She led the way—seemed well acquainted 
with side streets and alleyways.” 


inches.She seemed to be well acquaint¬ 
ed with side-streets and alleyways that 
were scarcely lighted. This seemed 
a little odd to me and I thought 








Racy Tales 


37 


I would keep my hand on my revolver 
in my overcoat pocket, and shoot 
through the coat at the first suspicious 
move or object I saw in motion. This 
proved to be an unnecessary precau¬ 
tion, as we soon entered the back door 
of an out-building that led into a 
long, narrow passage without a light. 
I reached 'out my left hand and took 
the arm of my guide and followed 
close, and was soon 'ushered into a 
doorway. 

She shoved a blind panel, unlocked 
the outer door and we walked into a 
small room. A large door was then 
swung open and on our entering an 



38 


Confessions of a Palmist 


iron bar two inches thick dropped into 
place and we were safe from the outer 
world. 

There were tables and games of all 
kinds—faro, roulette, etc. 

On the walls were masterpieces of 
paintings and tapestries of antique 
design. 

The atmosphere of the place was 
depressing. 

My lady showed me into her pri- 
ate room—overloaded with furnish¬ 
ings and overstocked with toilet ar¬ 
ticles. 

Here she became confidential, and 



Racy Thales 


39 


wanted to know if I knew anything 
about gambling devices. 

Having had a great deal of experi¬ 
ence with magic, illusions, etc., I sug- 

i 

gested several improvements that 
could be made in the way of “sure 
things” and she advanced the money 
•for same, which in due time I complet¬ 
ed. 

Anyone that came to gamble left 
money in the place. 

A month or so passed and one fine 
day in came my lady client all flushed 
with excitement, and stated that the 
news of her success had reached a bit¬ 
ter enemy, who had opened up a place 



40 


Confessions of a Palmist 


a block below her, and was in a fair 
way to get a good many of her cus¬ 
tomers. 

She wanted me to cast a spell over 
the place. 

I insisted I was not a spell caster, 
but she said, “ I know you say that, 
but you are just the same.” 

I tried to laugh her out of it but 
she became indignant, and insisted 
that I go over on the following day 
and stand in front of the place. 

“Well,” I said, “I’ll go over to 
please you, but to me it is ridiculous!” 

At the appointed time I went over 



and stood in front of the place for 
about five minutes. 

That night the police raided the 
house, pinched the occupants, and 
closed it up! 

The mysterious lady with the long 
sealskin saw me on the following day, 
gave me $2,800.00 and said she “knew 
I could cast spells, I looked it!” 


















• ' •- -4,2- ' “ -V;- ^ -x.*\. •• V 


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“SCAT!” ARE YOU SUPERSTITIOUS? 










THE WRONG MAN. 

Certain events bring* on peculiar 
states of mind. 

People that have dealt with occult¬ 
ism, for any length of time are liable 
to extreme superstition, which can be 
accounted for in several ways. 

Firstly, the people one comes in 
contact with are always in a state of 
discontent, uncertainty and disbelief 
—to say nothing of the element of 
fear that most people are sufficiently 
supplied with. 


45 


46 


Confessions of a Palmist 


The atmospheres of these people 
are in an unhealthy state and one un¬ 
consciously absorbs these fluids. 

And secondly, the study of subtle 
subjects unnerves one owing to ex¬ 
cessive concentration. 

Of course all things in Nature right 
themselves in time, and if the constitu¬ 
tion of an operator is strong enough 
to withstand these constant strains re¬ 
markable things are acomplished. In 
fact, events are predicted, and guilty 
persons located that seem beyond the 
belief of even well ordered intellects. 

And it may be that the extreme 
superstition some people labor under 



Racy Thales 


47 


is only the working of a principle that 
is not thoroughly understood even by 
the so-called adepts. 

In lieu of the foregoing, on this 
particular evening I had been making 
a pencil study of myself from a mir¬ 
ror—the light was difficult—bringing 
about close values, which necessitated 
the very closest attention. I had 
been drawing fully half an hour when 
I was interrupted by two men with 
mysterious airs. 

It seems a woman had been mur¬ 
dered under very peculiar circum¬ 
stances, and the supposed murderer 



4 8 


Confessions of a Palmist 


was already being shadowed by the 
detectives. 

The circumstantial evidence was 
strong, as the man was the sweetheart 
of the woman, and was the last, man 
seen with her—and the story ran they 
had quarreled—jealousy being the 
cause. 

However, at the time of these men 
calling, I knew nothing of the case, 
but I immediately told one of the men 
he had committed murder within the 
last forty-eight hours, describing the 
woman killed, the cause that actuated 
the crime, and the state of the room 
when found. 



Racy Rales 


49 


I he man became hysterical, broke 
down, and admitted his guilt. 



"I told one of the men he had committed 
murder.” 


The man that was with him fainted, 
and I revived him with difficulty. 
That the murderer remained to see 










50 


Confessions of a Palmist 

this man revived is, to me, dumb¬ 
founding. 

The man who fainted was the sweet¬ 
heart. 

The murderer had come with him 
to enquire about another man the 
sweetheart suspected of the crime. 

A year or so afterwards I read an 
account of the hanging of the “sweet¬ 
heart.” 

[The jury had convicted the sweet¬ 
heart on circumstantial evidence. 
This poor man told of what took place 
in the palmist parlors, how his friend 
had admitted the murder—etc., but 
the jury smiled and thought it “a 
cooked-up” story.] 


















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P-T-ISS-S-S 






























A HARD LUCK HUSBAND. 


One morning in October a lady call¬ 
ed while I was having breakfast, and 
the maid said, You had better try and 
quiet her as soon as you can, for she 
is in an awful state. 

I heard the long-drawn-out .sobs; 
but I thought she would soon pull her¬ 
self together; but as she continued, 
my appetite decreased and I made a 
gentle move toward the parlor. 

I found a woman nicely dressed, 
about 43 years of age, and of all the 


53 


54 


Confessions of a Palmist 


hysterical ladies I had ever seen she 
certainly took the palm. 

I said, “Madam, I am a wonder. 
Stop that crying immediately. I am 
going to straighten your wishes in 
about three minutes!” 

She hushed up, wiped her eyes, and 
said: “Professor, just look at that!” 
and handed me a letter, and added, 
“the brute!” 

The letter read: 

“Unless you send me $500, I will 
expose all to your husband!” 

Signed, K.—Egyptian Palmist. 

“Madam” I said, “This is a pure 
case of blackmail, and the man is an 




55 


Racy Talcs 

idiot. He does not intend to do any¬ 
thing of the kind. 

“But tell me what kind of ait ar¬ 
rangement did you have with this 
fakir?’, 

“Well, you see it was like this: I am 
very much in love with my physician. 

“My husband is a good man, but I 
don’t love him any more. So I went 
to this fortune-teller and asked him 
what he could do for me. He said he 
would begin work immediately if I 
would pay him a deposit of $250.00, 
which I did. 

“Then he told me he would have to 
be very careful and cast the spell 



56 


Confessions of a Falmist 


slowly, or it might look suspicious to 
the neighbors, and some of the friends 
of my husband. But he would take 
the case if I paid him $5 a week as 
long as my husband lived and give him 
$500 when my husband died—and my 
husband is still alive, and he wants 
the money, the nasty old thing’/ 5 

“Well,” I said, ‘you give me the let¬ 
ter and I will burn it at 12 to-night, 
and I guarantee you will never hear 
any more of it! 55 

A month after I saw the lady on the 
street with two gentlemen, and she 
left them and rushed up to me and 
nearly shook my hand off, and said, 



Racy T 3 ales 


57 


‘Tm just too happy for anything. 
You see those two gentlemen I’m 



“Well, the sick one is my husband.” 


with? Well the sick one is my hus¬ 
band, and the strong one is mv phy¬ 
sician—the old love! and he is doctor¬ 
ing my husband, and he says my hus¬ 
band won’t live long. “Good-bye!” 









He would have to be very careful and cast the 

spell slowly. 


























THE “ OOGLE-BOOGLE ! ” 

















































AN IRISH COUNT. 

Becoming somewhat uneasy in New 
York I thought a short trip to Chicago, 
might do me good, which I took, open¬ 
ing at one of the swell hotels and send¬ 
ing out my invitations to the society 
people. 

Among my numerous callers was a 
distinguished looking Irishman, fluent 
in speech to the last degree, and very 
witty. 

He told me he was running short of 
money, and would soon have to take 

6i 


62 


Confessions of a Palmist 


up some kind of profession, as his 
family had cut off his income. 

Naturally I suggested that he take 
up palmistry, telling him his appear¬ 
ance was good and his command of 
language stock-in-trade. 

He paid me for twenty lessons. 

After I had finished the eighth he 
looked at me and said: 

“Professor, I know too much al¬ 
ready! I am going to New York!” 

I shook his hand, and wished him 
luck! 

A month afterwards I returned to 
the metropolis, and as I walked up 
Broadway I saw the windows filled 




Racy Rales 


63 


with elegant printing announcing that 

Count-- had arrived in New 

York and was administering advice 
to the suffering, love-lorn, etc., at his 
magnificent parlors — Broadway. 

On studying the face I recognized 
my old pupil—the Irishman—with a 
short Van Dyke beard—which of 
course, as everyone knows, made him 
a Count. 

A short time afterwards the papers 
were filled with the financiering of the 
Count, and how he had left for parts 
unknown. 

It seems a young woman of 23 had 
come for a reading. 




6 4 


Confessions of a Palmist 


The Count grasped her hand and 
discovered wealth immediately. 

He said: “Have you got any mon¬ 
ey you can get hold of at once? if so 
bring it to me as quickly as you can— 
I can invest it and make you rich in 
two days!” 

The young woman jumped into a 
carriage, got $22,000, returned and 
gave it to the Count. 

The next morning the Count was 
gone, and so was the money. 

Six months afterwards I was in Lon¬ 
don. My wife and I were in Euston 
Station waiting for a train, when our 
attention was attracted to two police- 



Racy Thales 


65 

men leading a prisoner. I looked, 
rubbed my eyes, and said that certain- 



“That certainly is the Count.” 


ly is the Count. I wonder where he 
is taking the policemen ? 

Through the use of a little Ameri¬ 
can diplomacy and English sover- 






66 


Confessions of a Falmist 


eigns, I found out that the Count had 
gone to Monte Carlo, lost his money, 
and had to resort to quick resources to 
get more. 

He had a cover made with his init¬ 
ials elaborately embroidered. 

His method was to walk up to a fine 
looking grip, drop the cover over it 
and walk away. 

A man could see his own grip walk¬ 
ing and never recognize it! 

I got the Count out of his scrape 
and the last time I saw him he was 
bound for Ireland. 






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THE WORM OF CONTENTION 




































IN LOVE WITH THE SWEET 
ONE—MY UNCLE. 

One muggy afternoon while looking 
out of the window my attention was 
called to a carriage coming down the 
street at an unusual pace—and my 
surprise was great when the driver 
pulled up with a snap in front of my 
gate, and the footman opened the door 
for a gorgeously dressed young woman 
of about 30 years. 

I immediately retired to my private 
room, for it was a custom of mine to 
69 


?o 


Confessions of a Palmist 


keep clients waiting—the more money 
they had, according to my judgment 
—the longer they waited. 

To me this woman looked wealthy. 
Every now and then I could hear the 
rustle of silk skirts and a few hurried 
impatient remarks to her companion. 

Finally I shoved the folding doors 
and stood between them, and eyed my 
rich visitor. 

She came bounding over and said: 

“I have been waiting here fully 
three hours, and I am nearly dead,” 
and without waiting for an answer 
continued: “Do you suppose my hus- 



Racy Thales 


71 


band knows I have been intimate with 
my uncle for the last twelve years 4 ?” 

This question rather staggered me 
for a second or two, and I was going 
to laugh in her face, but I bit my lip, 
and turned down the gas, which gave 
me an opportunity of turning my 
head, and then I answered: “No, 
I don’t think he does! Come in, 
Madam.” 

She sat down, placed both of her 
hands in front of me and said: “What 
do you see? Tell me everything; 
keep nothing back; tell me the worst.” 

She kept right on talking, and I had 




7 2 


Confessions of a Palmist 


absolutely no chance, and this is her 
story : 

“You know my uncle is very 
wealthy, and I am his favorite niece. 
Well, as a little girl he would not let 
me out of his sight, so I virtually lived 
at his home. 

“My mother was very fond of so¬ 
ciety, and seemed to pay little atten¬ 
tion to my absence. In fact, I rather 
think she liked the arrangement. 
However, I had been away nearly a 
month when my uncle, the dear one, 
came home one evening and took me 
on his knee, kissed me very affection¬ 
ately and said: 



Racy Tales 


73 


My child, your mamma has run 
away with another man to Europe and 
left your papa. Now, what do you 
think of that? But never mind, I am 
going to take care of you and you are 
going to be all mine! 

“I didn’t seem to care a bit; in fact, 
I thought it rather jolly. 

“Well you see, as I got a little older 
my uncle said he would have to find 
me a husband, and find him quick, or 
there would be a great deal of talk 
among his acquaintances—and he 
might lose his place in society. 

“Well, however, in a week or two 
after that a nice looking gentleman 



74 Confessions of a Palmist 

was introduced to me and my uncle 
said: 

‘How do you think you will like 
her? 

“He did not answer, but he seemed 
to like me immediately, and uncle said 
he thought we had better have a quiet 
marriage. 

“It all seemed very strange to me, 
but I loved my uncle, and I thought 
he knew best, so we had a ‘quiet mar¬ 
riage/ And uncle said we could live 
with him, as he could not bear the 
thought of having me out of his sight. 

“He is a dear soul! 

“Then you see I had a child, a dear 



75 


Racy Thales 

little girl, eight months after I was 
married—and my husband is very 
jealous, for he says it looks like uncle. 



‘‘He says it looks like uncle." 


“Now I want to know if you think 
he knows that I love my uncle?” 
“Well, Madam,” Ianswered, “I am 




76 


Confessions of a Palmist 


a palmist, but not a mind-reader at a 
distance, but your hand shows you are 
going to have trouble with a hus¬ 
band!” 

She paid me $10 for the informa¬ 
tion, and departed with a puzzled ex¬ 
pression. 

Shortly afterwards I read an ac¬ 
count of a young married woman run¬ 
ning away with her uncle. 






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r>?:^;>‘v:XxS? 

' * •w.*.v%v.\v 











































SO THEY DID! 


On one of those fall afternoons 
when all nature seems to conspire to 
bring about a perfect hour, four young 
people entered, their faces bearing ex¬ 
pressions somewhat inimical. 

As I made it a point never to receive 
but one at a time, I was easily the 
master of the situation. 

The peculiarity of human nature is 
that if the surroundings are quiet, 
odors pleasant, and lights tranquil, 
secrets are unconsciously divulged. 


79 


8o 


Confessions of a Pahnist 


The delvers in the mysterious are 
usually aware of these conditions, and 
practice them on the unsophisticated. 

My first client (it took some minutes 
for the four to make up their minds, 
with “You go first! No! You go 
first/ 7 etc.) was a narrow-faced indi¬ 
vidual, about 25 years of age, with 
great self-possession—a graduate of 
Yale, with an obese bank account, and 
in a very independent manner stated 
he did not believe in palmistry, as¬ 
trology, or character reading. In fact, 
he was a thorough skeptic from every 
point of view. 

“Glad to hear it!” said I, “You have 



Racy Thales 


81 


simply called to give me your money, 
is that the idea'? Ten dollars, in ad¬ 
vance, please!” 

And out came the “ten-spot.” 

“Well,” I said, “you must be con¬ 
vinced to that extent?” 

He answered, “What am I here 
for?” 

“You are here to find out if it is pos¬ 
sible to get a separation from your 
newly married wife, without the 
necessary grounds!” 

His eyes stuck out, his chin dropped, 
and I knew he was convinced of some¬ 
thing. 

He finally recovered himself, took 



82 


Confessions of a 'Palmist 


on a half-natural expression, and said : 
“Some one told you that!” 

I said, “Yes! your own guilty con¬ 
science!” 

This had the desired effect—for he 
seemed to suspect that I knew the 
greater part of his profligate life—and 
he said: “If you will find an excuse 
that will answer for a separation, I 
will give you $>, 000 . 

“I want to marry my friend’s wife! 
He is now on the outside. Is it a go?” 

I said: “Call in forty-eight hours.” 

He walked out and waited for the 
others. 



Racy Tales 


83 


No. 2 was a lady, the wife of the 
first client. 

She said, “I know you can help me, 
I see it in your face. You are so kind. 
Won't you?’ 

“Well, that is a great box of 
salve," said I. “Possibly if you keep 
it up I will give you the earth! What 
do you want, a divorce from your hus¬ 
band?" 

“How did you guess that? You are 
just lovely! I could squeeze you for 
that!" 

“I have no objections!” said I, 
“you’re the one that’s holding back. 
I’m willing." 





Confessions of a Palmist 


She certainly became confidential! 

“Well,” she continued, when she 
had caught her breath, “you see I mar¬ 
ried before I really knew what I do 
now, and I am sure my husband never 
suspects me for a minute, but I really 
love his friend, he is such a dear boy— 
but the sweet old bunch is married. I 
think his wife is just horrible, don’t 
you"?” 

“I think most people are,” said I, 
“but don’t tell her, for the husband is 
going to give me $10 for her fortune!” 

“No,” said she, “you won’t charge 
her husband $10. If you do, I will 



Racy 'Tales 


85 


ask him to borrow it from my hus¬ 
band!” 

“Well, you had better whisper to 
him” said I, “for I need the money!” 

“Well, I will” said she, “if you will 
promise to give me a separation. I 
don’t care how you do it, but I want it, 
will you promise me 1 ?” 

I said, “Call in forty-eight hours,” 
and then I let her out in the main par¬ 
lor and called for the next subject. 

This was a lady. 

She was nervous and pale, but she 
had ideas! 

And the moment I closed the door 
she became my everlasting friend. 



86 


Confessions of a Palmist 


She said, “You see I am the wife of 
the gentleman that has not yet come 
in, and I don’t like him a little bit, 

“Don’t you think the other gentle¬ 
man is lovely?” 

“That all depends on how much he 
has got in his pocket!” said I. 

“Well, any way, I think he is, and 
I want you to see that I get him, even 
if you get away with my real hus¬ 
band.” 

This seemed so easy and plausible, 

I agreed and told her to call in forty- 
eight hours. 

The last one to come in I felt sorry 



Racy Rales 


87 


for; all I had to do was to count his 
money—and he had it in bunches. 



The two friends exchanged wives. 


I told him to wait for forty-eight 
hours and everything would be all 
right, that I would cast a spell over his 
friend, and he could have his wife. 













88 


Confessions of a Palmist 


In forty-eight hours the party re¬ 
turned. 

I called the three first ones in, one 
at a time, and told them I had cast a 
spell and it was successful. 

The two friends exchanged wives 
and walked away, and I have not 
heard from them since. 













HOO’S-HOO ! 
















THE PASSING OF JOHN T. UN¬ 
DERWOOD. 


Through the inadvertence of the 
police and the building inspectors, I 
was forced to leave my old stand and 
I took up a new abode on Broadway 
and Times Square and immediately 
fitted up my “Life Reading Parlors” 
and draped them with Oriental hang¬ 
ings—Persian Rugs, Hindoo and 
Persian Bric-a-brac, skulls with green 
lights in the eyes, burning incense, 
Egyptian lanterns with lights trim- 


91 



92 


Confessions of a Palmist 


med low, etc., and as for myself I 
naturally conformed to the surround¬ 
ings. My robe was rich, covered with 
mystic signs of the Zodiac, and the 
artistic colored turban blended with 
my make-up, which I was extremely 
careful about. My moustache, goatee 
and hair was barbered to the minute, 
and my eyes, dark by nature, were 
heavily made up. 

I looked 6 feet 2 inches, and to 
make the comparison more striking I 
employed a small Hindoo servant to 
wait on the door and salaam profuse- 

ly. 



Racy Tales 


93 


Experience had' taught me to im¬ 
press people at sight. 

The servant was trained to open 
the door with cold indifference, walk 
up to me, salaam, and exit. 

After one of these rehearsals, I ha- 
ha’d and said: 

“What a laugh this life is! 

“And the ambition of people! 
Amazing! 

“Not one in a million knows any¬ 
thing ! 

“And knaves! The world is crook¬ 
ed! 

“It doesn’t even revolve in a circle! 



94 


Confessions of a Palmist 


“We’re nearer the sun in the winter 
than in the summer! 

“The rays slant obliquely. 

“All things on earth wabble as they 
walk. 

“Don’t even walk straight—always 
fall! 

“Why should we think straight? 

“Why shouldn’t we fall? 

“We don’t know whether we’re go¬ 
ing or coming! 

“We never know our luck until we 
die! 

“We are all accidents! 

“But there is a law back of acci- 



Racy 'Rales 


95 


“But the human mind will never 
fathom that law! 

“We are here and we can’t get 
away! 

“What a laugh! 

“We live by preying upon each 
other! 

“Ignorance helps us out as much as 
wisdom! 

“Idiots and philosophers meet the 
same doom—both die! 

“Ah! the bell! I advise people, and 
take their coin!” 

A society woman entered, the Hin¬ 
doo salaamed, and the woman said: 

“The Psychic?” 



96 


Confessions of a Palmist 




I bowed slightly, and she con¬ 
tinued: 

“It is needless for me to tell you I 
am an aristocrat/ 5 

I glanced at her hand, saw a ring, 
and added: “And married !” 

“Wonderful,” she said, “I suppose 
you see all! But I will explain! I 
am in love with my physician! My 
husband thinks I adore him. I adore 
my Doctor. (The eyes rolled back 
in the head). I am horribly worried. 
If my husband ever finds me out he 
will murder me! I want you to help 
me! Name your price! My father 
is wealthy!” 



Racy 'Rales 97 

Madam, your case is simple,” I said. 
“I will begin my incantations to-night 
at 12. Two thousand dollars, please!” 

“My check,” she answered. 

I shook my head, and said: “The 
money!” 

“But I have not that amount with 
me!” she answered. 

“Get it,” said I. 

She handed me a thousand dollars 
and said she would give me the 
balance in two hours, and added: 

“I want you to give me a potion to 
give my love so he will think of me— 
me alone!” 

“Bring $500.00 more,” said I. 



9 8 


Confessions of a Palmist 


“Does it cost that much?” she ques¬ 
tioned. 

“It does if you want him to think 
of you alone!” was my reply. 

“Very well! Will my husband be 
suspicious?” 

“Not if you pay for another po¬ 
tion !” 

“What—another?” 

“Yes, madam! The ingredients I 
use are very expensive. They come 
from the Nile!” 

“I should think they came from 
heaven,” said she. 

“No! my influence does!” 

“Or some other place,” she retorted. 





Racy 'Rales 


99 


“You’re looking for results?” 

“Yes.” 

“What does it matter?” 

“Very well! you shall have the 
money inside of two hours—but I 
think you’re high!” 

“Madam, the case is lofty!” and I 
let her out. 

As I closed the door I meditated: 
Two thousand five hundred for that 
job. What a volcano of love that 
woman must have! The idea of wast¬ 
ing it on a doctor? It’s a disease! 
But she’ll be cured all right enough! 
I believe I could learn to love her my¬ 
self. 



100 


Confessions of a Palmist 


x here was a bell and the Hindoo 
ushered in an Irish servant girl. 

“And a’r yez the fartune-teller, and 
its me own throubles I have—mount¬ 
ains av thim—and can you remove a 
few hills? 5 

“How much money have you? 55 

“An 5 its not al 5 that I have, ye 5 ll 
git—I have 25 cints—more 5 n yer 
worth, ye spalpeen. 55 

Bridget gave me the money and con¬ 
tinued. “Will you take thim al 5 
away? 55 

“If you pay me the 25 cents often 
enough! 55 

“May the Good Lord bless ye!— 



Racy 'Rales 


101 


but—yez don’t desarve it,” said Brid¬ 
get, and she rushed out into the street, 
while I murmured: 

“What a degenerate.” Liable to 
do anything! A perverted Spaniard!” 
I looked at the 25c. piece again and 
continued: It’s tainted, I’ll give it 
to charity,” and tossed it into a bowl 
I kept for the purpose. 

The bell rang. The Hindoo open¬ 
ed the door and salaamed, and in came 
a client—Luella,—and questioned: 

“Are you the Psychic 1 ?” 

I bowed, and she continued: 

“I adore psychics! I love the oc¬ 
cult ! Oh! that I could float away in 



102 


Confessions of a Palmist 


ethereal space, where eternal love 
abounds! Oh! to mingle with the 



“My astral body is about to leave this ma- 
terial plane.” 


seraph forever more! Oh! the joy of 
it! I feel my nervous fibers closing! 
My astral body is about to leave this 










Racv Tales 


103 


material plane! Oh! I go! I 
swoon!” And she fell in a heap. 

I threw water in her face and re¬ 
marked: “That’s what they all say! 
But I notice they all come back for ad- 
v e after an application or two.” 

She finally opened her eyes, gazed 
wildly, and asked: 

“You still here?’ 

“Still here,” said I, “as long as there 
is anything doing! How much have 
you got?’ 

“Got?’ said Lulela, “why what do 
you mean?’ 

“I mean when you take flights in 
this place you leave the material with 



104 


Confessions of a Palmist 


me! You can’t spend it up above!” 

“How shocking! Then you don’t 
give psychic advice without money 1 ?” 
said Luella. 

“Not so that you can notice it,” I 
said. 

Again she broke out. “I am in love 
with a poet! Oh! I adore poets! 
The most spiritual beings that God al¬ 
lows on this sphere! The one I love 
has such lustrous eyes! When he 
looks into mine with those liquid orbs, 

I feel my nervous fibers”-and I 

reached for the pitcher and said: 
“What, again 1 ?” 



Racy ‘Tales 


10 5 


“How you startled me! What do 
you mean 1 ?” she said. 

“How much have you got,” said I. 

“Does he love me 1 ?” she queried. 

“He does if you put up for a po¬ 
tion!” 

“How strange! Do you supply po¬ 
tions? 

“For $25.” 

Luella handed me $25, and asked, 
“Will he always love me?” 

“Fie will if you continue to buy po¬ 
tions,” said I, as I bowed her out and 
received a new caller. 



MADAM LUBENSTEIN. 


“I vant to do bizness. I vant you to 
cast me a spell over mine place so de 
tief detective vont get all I got! You 
know I’m a respectable woman, dm an 
honest woman! I help out beoples 
fen da have someting worth someting 
dat day can’t trust odder tiefs yith! 
1 gif a goot price and I sell cheap. I 
hav’ not much—money. I just make 
a living. ’Dis morning an Irish ser¬ 
vant brought me a lot of diamonds 
and heirlooms, and said she was given 


Racy Rales 


107 


dem by a old gentleman. He vas 
murdered last night. I gif her $6 for 
dem!— (rubbing her hands). If any¬ 
one comes to you to find dem—I gif 
you $1,000 not to tell.” And she 
handed me the bills. 

I put the money in my pocket, and 
said: “I never heard of them in my 
life!” 

Madam Lubenstein patted me on 
the back and said: “Ve goot friends, 
—Eh?’ 

“As long as you have the long 
green!” said I. 

“Veil, ve do bizness again maybe!” 
and she sidled out the door. 



Confessions of a 'Palmist 


108 

I reflected: “A lot of diamonds and 
heirlooms from an Irish servant. C A 
goot brice, $6. 5 Old gentleman mur¬ 
dered last night,—$1,000 to forget it! 
Why, the idea of me remembering 
such a thing!” 

The bell rang and in came the so¬ 
ciety woman in mourning and said: 
“My father was murdered last night. 
A large quantity of bonds was taken 
from his private safe. Can you give 
me any information?” 

“How much have you got,” said I. 

“Sir!” 

“Five hundred, please! I will be- 



gin my incantations at midnight, 
madam!” 

She handed me the money, adding: 
“And don’t forget my dear doctor! 
I want him to love me—and me 
alone!” and left. 

I looked at the money and said: 
“There must have been a killing!” 

The Hindoo salaamed and a client 
followed on his heels with: “I’m a 
doctor. I’m tired of my wife, and I 
want to rid myself of the attentions 
of a society woman, whose father was 
murdered last night. I am in love 
with a sweet creature whose adventure 
of the past received some notoriety; 



no 


Confessions of a Palmist 


but she is repentant. Can you aid 
me?” 

“How much have you got?” said I. 

“Are your fees exorbitant, Profes¬ 
sor?” 

“About the same as yours!” was my 
reply. 

He handed me a thousand, and 
said: 

“It’s a severe case!” 

“Yes!” said I. “I make a specialty 
of heart disease.—-Pll probably pull 
some of you through!” and I let him 
out and met a client that immediately 
introduced herself as 



BLOND VIOLA’ 


with “Say, old boy! “I’m a good fel¬ 
low, and I need your help, and I’ll 
split up with you! I’m on friendly 
terms with a doctor who is daffy about 
me! and there is a society gent, that 
thinks I’m ‘It.’ He is married, but he 
don’t care for his wife! I can’t see 
him!—but he’s got the coin! and he’s 
a spender! Are you in with me on 
this?” 

“How much have you got?” said I. 

“Well,” she continued, “the two 


1 12 


Confessions of a Paltnist 


mugs gave me a couple of thousand 
yesterday for pin money! But I want 
you to give me a potion so they will 
empty their pocketbooks—see? Turn 
over real estate—see?” 

“This is simple! Give me a thou¬ 
sand!”—and I looked wise. 

“There you are!” she said, handing 
out the bills, “you’re all right.” 

“Right as anyone,” I answered, as 
I let her out, closed the door, and said 
to myself: “There you are—a tender¬ 
hearted soul!—Liberal, too! But she 
has a funny philosophy. A doctor 
and a society man daffy over her! 
They must be daffy!” 



Racy Talcs 


113 


The Hindoo answered the door, did 
his usual, and a thin, hungry-looking 
specimen entered, rolled up his eyes, 
brushed back his hair and in a fervent 
spasm said: 

“I long for an opportunity 
To mingle in this community. 

Where loving hearts are always true 
Like honey-flowers all wet with 
dew!” 

“How much have you got^” said I. 
The poet continued: 

“You speak of wealth, along with 
love? 

Wealth is of earth—Love of above!' 5 
“I’m glad you’ve got that out of 



“4 


Confessions of a Palmist 


your circulation, but that currency 
don’t go here,” said I,—“Now let’s 
get together!” 



“I speak of birds and beasts and things, and 
hear the buzzing of their wings/’ 


“I speak of birds and bats and things 
And hear the buzzing of their wings!” 









Racy 'Rales 


ii 5 


“Yes! you’ll fly, if you don’t get 
out your coin!” said I. 

“I smell the perfume of the flowers, 
And hearken to the listless bowers 
And soar away on zephyrs mild 
With spirit sweet that hath beguiled!” 

“You’ll blow all right—if you have¬ 
n’t something to blow,” said I to my¬ 
self. 

But he continued: 

“A psychic maiden—fair of form 
Has touched my heart and keeps it 
warm!” 

“She’s hot stuff. How much have 
you got?” I questioned. 



Confessions of a Palmist 


116 


“I think not of wealth, or pelf or gain 
I think of love—it doth maintain.” 

“Not for mine!” and I took him by 
the hand and lead him to the door, 
adding: “You are a strange flower, 
I would like to pluck thee—but I think 
thou hast dropt thy petals!” 

Shortly after he left a society gen¬ 
tleman entered and asked, “You are 
the mystic 4 ?” 

I bowed, and he continued: 

“I have a love affair!” 

“I know you have!” said I. 

“How strange!” and he continued: 
“Now, this girl is a good fellow, 5 you 
know—'chic 5 -;—appeals to a man of 



Racy 'Tales 117 

society — is — natural — you know! 
Good company—I’m married, but I’d 
like a potion to give tp this girl so 
she’ll think of me occasionally—ha! 
ha! You understand?” 

“One thousand dollars, please!” 
and I looked him square in the eye. 

He staggered, and asked: “Isn’t 
that a trifle high?” 

“Not to be thought much of!” was 
my reply. 

He payed the money, and received 
a potion, and asked, “Will this 
work?” 

“If it doesn’t, try another,” said I, 
as I let him out. 



Confessions of a Palmist 


118 


Shortly in came the sandwich man 
—my walking advertisement and I 
said: “Right in there, Sandy”— 

pointing to a door on the side—and 
Sandy made his exit. 

I meditated: “Funny looking 
guy!’ Unlucky!” 

The door had barely closed on 
Sandy when in came a detective and 
said: “I’m on this murder case—the 
old gentleman that was killed here the 
other day—father of a society woman, 
you know, and have found $100,000 
of diamonds and heirlooms over at 
Madam Lubenstein’s—bought of an 
Irish servant for $6. This servant is 



Racy Tales 


119 


Sandy’s sweetheart, and I think Sandy 
did the job!” 

I looked at him without moving a 
hair, and he continued: 

“I saw Sandy come in here a minute 
ago and I’m going to blow and take 
him along-—and, say! I want you to 
give me some advice.” 

“How much have you got 4 ?” said I. 

‘Til divvy all right,” said he, “but 
I v/ant you to throw a spell over these 
cops—they’ve been tapping me for 
everything I have made lately. 
Madam Lubenstein gave me a wad, 
but I had to give it up; but I’m going 
to 'touch’ her for more.” 



120 


Confessions of a Palmist 


“Five hundred, please/ 5 was my re¬ 
ply, “I begin my incantations to-night 
at 12. 55 

“Well, there you are! And he 
threw the money, stepped to the door 
and blew the whistle. The cops came 
in, brought Sandy out, and sprung the 
old gag: c In the name of the law you 
are placed under arrest, accused of the 
murder of John T. Underwood, which 
took place on Friday night, March 
6 th, at his residence on Madison Ave¬ 
nue, New York City.’ 55 

Sandy broke down and said, “I 
killed him and robbed him!” 

Sandy, the detective, and one cop 





Racy "Tales 


121 


passed out. The other cop, lingering 
behind, said: “Say, I’ve got a job for 
you!” 

“How much have you got 4 ?” said I. 

“Well, that gum-shoe detective that 
just went out has been getting all 
kinds of boodle of Madam Luben- 
stein—and he’s a bad boy—he don’t 
give the right bit!” 

“Five hundred, please, I’ll begin 
my incantations at 12!” and I bit my 
lip. 

And the cop replied: “Here’s the 
coin; do ’em good!” 

Inside of five minutes a couple was 
ushered in who proved to be Viola and 



122 


Confessions of a Palmist 


her sweetheart, and I overheard the 
following conversation from an ad¬ 
joining room: 

“You know that guy I tapped in 
the ‘cocoa’ the other week and touched 
for these? (showing diamonds) Well, 
I saw him on the street to-day with his 
head in a sling. He’s out of the hos¬ 
pital all right. Glad it wasn’t seri¬ 
ous! Look good, don’t they?” (flash¬ 
ing them on his hand). 

Viola answered: “Maybe we’re 
not on Easy Street, eh? The Doc’s 
wife was buried the other day—no 
suspicion. He confessed to me that 
he gave her the ‘dope.’ And I pulled 



Racy 'Rales 


123 


his leg for all the change he had in 
three banks. I told him if he didn’t 
give up I’d squeal. And that society 
gent has deeded over his real estate. 
I’m through with him. So we’re hap¬ 
py, you old darling.” (Here I saw a 
hug.) 

“That’s right, Viola,” said the 
sweetheart-thief, “but we’ll have to 
fix his ‘nobs’ ”—meaning me. About 
this time I thought I had better come 
out. 

“Well! we’ve come around to do 
the right thing!” said Viola. 

“How much have you got?’ I 
asked. 



124 


Confessions of a Palmist 


“Well! I can give you $10,000!” 

“Double it!” And I looked insult¬ 
ed. 

“Say, you’re not taking chances!” 
And she began counting large bills. 

“Wise people never do,” I an¬ 
swered. 

Viola and the thief left with “good¬ 
bye, good-bye! When we get up 
against it again we’ll be around.” 

I stepped out to get a paper and 
when I returned I found the Psychic 
Luella, who greeted me with: 

“Here I am, impelled by some 
weird force. I loved my poet, but all 
at once my blood became cold, my 



Racy 'Tales 


125 


eyes dilated, I saw the world a fluid 
mass of horrifying events, antago¬ 
nistic elements, fleeting emotions—a 
boiling, seething mess of corruption— 
falsified, and falsifying! The chilled 
electro-nerve fluid emanating from 
my emaciated frame broke the heart 
of my poet—and I watched his burial 
without a tear!” 

I unfolded the paper I held in my 
hand, and my eyes fell on the follow¬ 
ing article: 

“Mr. Rathborn, society gentleman, 
ruined. His wife died from poison 
administered by a doctor whom Mr. 
Rathborn was jealous of. Mrs. Rath- 



126 Confessions of a Palmist 

born, evidently knowing she was go¬ 
ing to die, wrote the following letter, 
which was found by the coroner: 

“ ‘I murdered my father, for the 
ready money he had in his private 
safe, and gave the jewels to the serv¬ 
ant, to throw off all suspicion on me. 
I squandered and gave the money to 
the man I loved. I know he has poi¬ 
soned me, as he loves another woman. 
Sandy and Bridget were given a hur¬ 
ried trial and received the penalty. 
They were both innocent. I can’t 
imagine why Sandy said he killed my 
father.” ” 



Racy Tales 


127 


The shock of this article revived my 
memory! 



“I dreamed I hypnotized poor Sandy." 


“I had a dream—curious the work¬ 
ings of the human mind. I dreamed 
I hypnotized this poor Sandy, and 





12 § 


Confessions of a Palmist 


made him confess to a crime he never 
committed. When I awoke from the 
dream I was worried. The poor man’s 
mind absorbed my dreamy thoughts. 
—Thus do we, while w r e sleep, control 
those we know not of!” 

I took Luella’s hand and sadly re¬ 
marked : 

“And thus I see throughout these 
vast antagonisms the Eternal plan. 
Like must gravitate to like!” 




4 


VAMPIRES ALL ! ” 









































































































































WAITING FOR McGINNIS. “I LOVE HIS 
IRISH WAYS.” 









‘MAGGIE: 


Some fifteen years ago, the sun was 
shining brightly over The Emerald 
Isle, and a ray struck Dublin, the 
home of a well-to-do Irish couple with 
the good old name of McPartland. 
True to the Irish song, they had “chil¬ 
dren, yes, a plenty!” The family was 
as happy as could be found in any land 
without home rule, until the spectre 
death visited the McPartlands and 
took away the father. 

The children scattered, and sought 


133 


] 34 


Confessions of a Palmist 


their livelihood in other counties and 
the mother left with only one daugh¬ 
ter, Maggie, about 14 years old, mar¬ 
ried again—this time to a McGinnis. 
This individual was thrifty, strict, 
and quick-tempered. 

Maggie could not see him with a 
telescope from any point of view and' 
told her mother so. 

The mother insisted she loved his 
Irish ways. 

Maggie began developing ideas. 
She had heard of America, read some 
about it, and dreamed a little on her 
own. She really made up her mind 
she would trod the sod of America if 



MAGGIE NEARING QUEENSTOWN. 





13 6 


Confessions of a Palmist 


she had to swim—but while she was 
thinking of the deep blue sea, a chill 
ran up her spine, and she received an¬ 
other idea from God knows where. 

McGinnis, the step-father, had gone 
to town with some cattle! 

Maggie figured it out that he would 
sell the same—return with money, 
and he would also give this to her 
mother for safe keeping. By this time 
Maggie had developed ideas that 
would put a band of bandits to shame. 

vShe took an oath she would have 
that money if it took her left leg. 

She was silent, but gloated in¬ 
wardly. 



Racy ’Tales 


1 37 


McGinnis returned that night load¬ 
ed with coin and whiskey. 

Mrs. McGinnis got the coin and 
McGinnis kept the whiskey—longer 
than was expected. 

Maggie’s eye was filled with deter¬ 
mination. She instinctively felt this 
was her chance to see America—the 
Land of the Free! 

She was brave, and watched her 
mother put the money in a safe place 
—and retire for the night. 

Mrs. McGinnis was sound asleep 
in a few minutes, and as for McGin¬ 
nis, he was snoring to beat the band, 



138 


Confessions of a Falmist 


with a stretch of not less than ten 
hours ahead of him. 

Maggie had made a bundle of her 
clothes, and reached for the bag of 
money Mrs. McGinnis had not in¬ 
tended to loan. 

Maggie struck the highway and fol¬ 
lowed her nose until 6 o’clock in the 
morning, when she arrived at Queens¬ 
town. Boats were leaving for Amer¬ 
ica that morning at 9 o’clock and 
Maggie took the first one she came to.. 
She had little troubleln getting by, as 
she had money—a circulating medium 
in any part of the world. 

Two hours after the boat started, 



.. 

McGinnis returns home loaded with 

COIN AND BOOZE. — 










140 


Confessions of a Palmist 


Maggie didn’t much care whether she 
ever got to America or not—sea-sick¬ 
ness had reached every part of 
her anatomy and she was wondering 
which part would give, way first. 

However, as the boat rolled, so did 
the days, and one fine morning Maggie 
arrived in Boston, and began looking 
around for employment. 

The trip had been a rough one, and 
the excitement of a new country had a 
bad effect on her constitution. She 
kept up a few days, but finally took 
to her bed. The people with whom 
she was staying called in a doctor, and 
he advised, after feeling of her pulse 




Racy Thales 


H 1 


and taking her temperature, “the hos¬ 
pital!” 

Poor Maggie! She had typhoid 
fever! 

The hospital, which as every one 
knows, is next to the morgue, put sev¬ 
eral ideas into Maggie’s head, and she 
determined to get well as soon as pos¬ 
sible. 

She lingered a few weeks, and at 
last was pronounced well enough to 
leave the place, and was directed to 
The Young Woman’s Home, where 
the matron took a great interest in her, 
owing to her wit and good looks. This 
motherly old soul got her a position 









Racy Tales 


H3 


with a reputable family that treated 
her with kindness and did everything 
in their power to develop her mind 
and teach her everything about a 
home. 

She was nearing sweet sixteen and 
was a rosy-cheeked apple of “Old 
Erin,” and naturally attractive. 

About this time, a young photog¬ 
rapher and surveyor, Haden Seymour, 
came into this family to board. He 
had opened up a place and was doing 
a good business for a beginner, and 
was a clever fellow outside of picture¬ 
making and surveying. The educa¬ 
tion he had received along these lines 



144 


Confessions of a Palmist 


must have been thorough, for he de¬ 
tected a ravishing beauty in Maggie, 
and immediately invited her over for 
pictures. She posed, and posed, and 
posed, and posed, but still this young 
artist could see new points develop in 
this extraordinarily fine subject. At 
last he became so infatuated with this 
model, he proposed marriage. Maggie 
was of the same opinion herself, and 
things seemed very satisfactory, when 
all at once something came up regard¬ 
ing a photo where they scarcely agreed 
—and a lovers quarel was on. 
Haden was stubborn and Maggie said 
she was Irish to the back-bone, and as 




Racy Tales 


145 


thick as any pete in “Old Ireland,” 
and would not “budge” for the world. 

Haden sold his photo-studio, put 
the money in his pocket, slung his sur¬ 
veying kit on his shoulder and struck 
out for the depot, and before Maggie 
knew what had happened, he was on 
his way to Denver. 

Maggie was sad, bewildered, and 
a few weeks after became dejected. 
The old people tried to cheer her, but 
to no purpose. __ 

Haden’s room was rented the next 
week after his departure for the west 
to an engineer, Jack BlaisdelL 

Jack was a judge of beauty also, 



146 


Confessions of a Palmist 


and, along with an aesthetic eye, had a 
well-oiled tongue—which he used to 
advantage in soothing the feelings of 
Maggie. 

At last Maggie cheered up to a de¬ 
gree, and accepted the hand of Jack— 
not that she cared for him in the least, 
but as a revenge—for she expected 
Haden would return. 

Jack and Maggie were married and 
left for Connecticut, settling on the 
banks of the river, near the factory 
of a prosperous burg. 

Maggie was employed by the sup¬ 
erintendent to look after his mail and 
Jack worked in the engine room. 



For the first few months, everything 
seemed to run on smoothly enough, 
and a little bank account was started. 

Prosperity is a funny thing! 

Many can’t stand it! 

The prosperous continually walk 
on thorns. 

Jack was no exception! 

He was also impressionable! 

His conduct seemed to change as 
soon as he got a little money—at least 
some of the women remarked. 

Maggie didn’t notice it with the 
rapidity some of the other women did, 
but was “put wise” that Jack was 





148 


Confessions of a Palmist 


flirting with another girl at the fac¬ 
tory. 

At first she couldn’t believe it, but 
was convinced one evening when 
some of her lady friends took her down 
the road and showed her a loving 
couple under a weeping willow. 

She accused Jack of infidelity, but 
he remarked she was a little girl chum 
he had known for years, and he was 
only cheering her up, as she was in 
hard luck. 

The story sounded good to Maggie, 
but not plausible. 

Two weeks later, Jack was missing, 
and so was the little “chum.” 




A LOVING COUPLE UNDER A WEEPING 
WILLOW. 


} 









150 Confessions of a Palmist 

Maggie worked a few months long¬ 
er, saving her money, and at last 
thought she would take a trip to New 
York. 

On her way, she bought a paper to 
read the news, and at last wound up 
by carelessly looking over the “ads.” 

One in particular caught her eye— 
a clairvoyant, psychic astrologer with 
a marvelous power for detecting the 
whereabouts of anything, anybody 
and more especially for uniting the 
lovelorn. 

Maggie, from that minute, devel¬ 
oped a faith she had never recognized 
before. The one bright spot in New 



York in so far as Maggie went was 
that clairvoyant - astrologer. S h e 
memorized the address immediately, 
and was once more thoroughly satis¬ 
fied with her existence—for such is 
hope. 

On her arrival in New York, she 
asked a policeman what car to take for 
the address of this astrologer. 

He looked at her with pity, and 
said: “Yer crazy, I’ll put ye on the 
car!” which he did, and told the con¬ 
ductor where to let her off. 

In fifteen minutes the conductor 
stopped the car, pointed to a sign, and 
smiled. 




152 


Confessions of a Palmist 


Maggie got off! As she turned she 
saw a man board a car going in the op¬ 
posite direction. She recognized this 
man as her husband. This convinced 
her the only man in New York worth 
noticing w r as the astrologer. 

She came in, and I noted the agi¬ 
tated condition and instinctively 
coupled her with the gentleman, or in¬ 
dividual, that had just left the place. 
After casting her horoscope, I told her 
about what she had passed through 
and she admitted the truth of my 
reading, and asked for the address of 
Jack Blaisdell—her husband. 

I said he has evidently changed his 




Racy Tales 


153 


name for the address reads J. Hughes, 
-St., Brooklyn. 

I told her I would help her out and 
find the “real cause/’ and added, 
“Don’t worry! Call in a couple of 
days.” 

I sent a detective over to the ad¬ 
dress, made up as a census taker, with 
badge and book, who found three peo¬ 
ple in the little fiat—a woman, just up 
from confinement, a baby girl, and J. 
H ughes. 

When Maggie called again, I in¬ 
formed her of the discovery and told 
Vr to send a small present for the 

\y, marked “Mrs. 3 . Hughes,” to be 




154 


Confessions of a Palmist 


delivered at just such a time, and also 
told her to be there a few minutes be¬ 
fore made up with a blond wig and 
veil—a real book agent. The detect¬ 
ive was with her. 

When the time appointed came, the 
messenger arrived with the package 
and Mrs. “J. Hughes’’ signed and the 
female book agent and detective saw 
everything—even Mr. J. Hughes 
cuddling the baby. 

Maggie had the evidence, and 
brought suit for divorce, and a short 
time after the hearing was granted a 
separation. 

One day she dropped in to see me 



Racy tfales 


155 


and accidentally mentioned the name 
of Haden Seymour, and told me how 
they had quarreled, and he had settled 
in Denver. 

I pricked up my ears at the name 
and ran over my lists, as I was doing 
a good mail order business. 

To my surprise, I not only found 
the name, but a picture of himself he 
had sent me for a physiognomical 
reading. 

I showed this to Maggie and she 
nearly fainted. 

I wrote a strong letter to Mr. 
Haden Seymour, and told him I could 
reunite him to his true love. 



i 5 6 


P ahnist 


Co 

He sold out his business in Denver, 
came to New York and married 

\A .... .. * ^ 'MB 

j,re happy in their belief in 

-roscones. 

. u ...c die curtain falls on 

THE CONFESSIONS OF 
a Palmist. 



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